August Rain
by fourandtwenty
Summary: A prisoner for twenty years after the Dark Lord fell, an accused murderer is released into the world, but only after he relives his past with an unexpected Minister.


**August Rain**  
  
  
The sky above me was a light golden color seen only as the sun dips below and rises above the dark, shadowed horizon. The clouds she held closely to her own endless depths were colored the most magnificent shades of the rainbow, looking for all the world as if they were sent from the angels above—angels I had never believed in until that very moment, at the earliest hours of dawn.  
  
I watched the sun slowly rise through the small window I had been provided with after years of near-perfect behavior. She broke through the horizon steadily, not letting even the shadowy chains of night stop her. Today, I was to be the sun; I was to be set free from the chains that had held me captive for nearly two decades.  
  
The moment the golden orb was fully released from the clutched of darkness and shadows, the lock of my heavy metal cell door slowly clicked open for the first time in eight years. The last time I had stepped foot outside of one of the three by four meter cells the prison held was when they moved me to the one with the window, where I now watched the sun rise with guarded awe.  
  
"Harry Potter?" a large man with dull gray eyes stepped into my cell—one in which was not his, but mine—clutching a piece of parchment with his left first, almost as if he was terrified of my very presence.  
  
Then again, there may have been much to fear indeed, for I did in fact kill Lord Voldemort—and my best friend. A man who killed one of the most powerful wizarding lords of his time is to be worshiped; a man who killed one of his best friends is to be scorned and buried alive, tossed into a deep dark hole and left there to rot for all eternity.  
  
"By decree of the Minister of Magic, you are to be released at dawn on this day, August 24th, 2019. You, Harry Potter, are to be immediately transported to Headquarters, where the Minister himself will speak with you. Your rights as a Wizard shall be returned to you, and then you shall be released into the civilized world at dusk."  
  
I said nothing at this; rather, I followed the gruff man out of the cold gray stone of my cell and into a dim hallway lined with guards and door—some barred, some solid metal like mine. I followed him through the many twists and turns of the maze of Azkaban, avoiding the hollow, empty eyes of the other prisoners who had missed another sunrise and were to miss another sunset as they paid back the crimes they committed.  
  
In the aftermath of Lord Voldemort, many loyal to him would never live to see another sunrise or sunset again.  
  
Anticipation rose within me with each step we took, for each step left behind was one I would never have to walk again and also one less I had to walk to gain my freedom once again. It seemed like forever and a day yet was only a few minutes until we reached the guarded gates and doors of the entrance to the most hated and feared stronghold in the world; my home for the past nineteen years.  
  
IDs were checked, tests were given, and magic was used to determine I was indeed who I was; the scrawny boy who had walked through those doors so many years before as a prisoner, only to become an even thinner man to walk out free. After perhaps ten minutes of such, I was allowed through the iron gates of the fortress, where I felt the sun—the glorious, warm, free sun—shine down upon me for what seemed like the first time in a lifetime, for a lifetime was what my stay truly had been.  
  
I was given little time to absorb her rays, for almost immediately a small blue globe was thrust into my hand, and a moment later, I felt a tug behind my navel—one I feared I would never feel again—as I was transported to the Ministry of Magic Headquarters in downtown London.  
  
I fell to the ground immediately after my feet touched the green carpeted floor, but strong pairs of arms pulled me back upwards, forcing me to walk straight forward through a set of white—a blinding, unbelievable white—double doors. The room I was taken into held naught but a small wooden table, on which was a set of black velvet robes, some of the finest I had ever seen.  
  
"Change," a deep rumbling voice commanded, stepping out and closing the blindingly white doors behind me. I breathed in deeply, taking in the new surroundings, as I reached out for the set of robes. When my hand touched the fine fabric, I made a small noise of delight, for it had been two decades since my rough, calloused hands had felt such fineness.   
  
Quickly, I undressed and changed into the garments, amazed at the feeling of the crush of velvet against my skin. A minute later, the deep-voiced man opened the door once again, releasing me from my blinding prison. I looked down at my feet, bare and dirty, as I followed the man's lead through various halls and doors, much as I had followed the guard through the maze of Azkaban only a quarter of an hour before.  
  
Soon, we came upon a large set of wooden doors, ones that thankfully didn't blind me, in which the man knocked twice and then slowly, without waiting for a command from the occupants of the room beyond, opened and guided me inside.  
  
"Minister?" his deep voice rumbled as he released his grip of my arm. "The prisoner you requested?"  
  
"Don't say it like that, Bruce," a lighter male voice sighed. "It makes me sound as if I were going to shag his brains out and then leave his body in the gutter."  
  
I grimaced at the sound of the Minister's tone, for now there was no mistaking his voice. Sitting in a high-backed chair facing towards the window and now towards the door, set behind a gleaming wooden desk to match the set of doors the man—Bruce—and I had stepped through, was the one person I had least expected to find in this situation.  
  
Bruce respectfully stepped back and closed the doors, leaving me with the Minister. I stood there, completely dumbfounded, as the chair slowly turned around, revealing none other than Draco Malfoy.  
  
"You always did like to make things dramatic," I said quietly, my voice rough and throaty from disuse.  
  
"And you always liked to save the day. Your point?" Draco gave me a half-smile, something that anyone else would have mistaken as a smirk, and waved for me to sit down in one of the cushioned leather chairs set in front of his gleaming desk.  
  
Slowly, I made my way towards the chair, sitting down in an even more sloth-like manner. My muscles ached from the lack of support, the lack of stone and hardness, but my bones sighed in relief as the pain I had felt for so long finally began to ebb away.  
  
"You're probably wondering why I brought you here," Draco began, his lively gray eyes bearing into my own dull, lifeless ones.   
  
"Yes," I said quietly, determined not to let my once-foe overcome me. "I have a lifetime of required time in Azkaban left until I would be deemed successful in paying back for my crime. Why have I been allowed to see the sky again?"  
  
"Simple, my friend," he leaned forward, his stare penetrating and extremely uncomfortable. "You were serving time for a crime you didn't commit. Surely even you, after—how long has it been? Two decades?—should know that."  
  
I stared back, challenging his gaze. "I've been accused of so many things and told so many lies, I haven't the faintest clue of what was once reality and what was once fiction. I do know I would never commit the crime I had been accused of, however, and I suppose that's the one thing that counts."  
  
"Wrong," Draco said, snapping his posture straight once again. "That's the one thing that doesn't count and never has, Potter. What does count is the fact you were known to be able to throw off the Imperious curse, the curse you claimed you had been under as you committed the murder. Many witnesses claimed you had gone crazy; many others swore you were acting exactly as you would have in your own mind both before and after the murder took place. However, that's the beauty of the Imperious curse—no one can tell fact from fiction."  
  
I raised an eyebrow as the man sitting in front of me recapped the evidence displayed in court twenty years ago. "So why have I been set free?"  
  
He leaned back with a sigh, the tip of a quill balanced between fore-and pointer finger. "Unfortunately, while under the rule of Cornelius Fudge, the Ministry had practiced 'guilty until proven innocent', unbeknownst to the wizarding community—although with the amount of innocent men slammed behind bars, I would have thought some smart soul would have figured it out sooner or later." The blonde smirked, his eyes still locked on mine. "Your case, citing a lack of evidence, has been deemed void. Whether or not you did in fact commit the crime is no longer in question; you are officially now and have always been an innocent man, and will be paid for the years you were imprisoned."  
  
I struggled to keep my features indifferent, but inside I was shrieking with joy; I would have a chance to gain my life back.  
  
…no. I would never have my life back, no matter how many years I walked upon the earth. I no longer had any friends, yet those faces in which were once friendly were now replaced with foes. I would have no job, only a sum of money granted by the ministry and perhaps an article in the Daily Prophet, saying I had somehow tricked the Ministry into setting me free. After all, a wizard as powerful to hold the key to killing the Dark Lord would surely possess the powers to hoodwink a few Ministry officials and Azkaban guards—replaced with humans shortly after Voldemort had risen to power.   
  
"Thank you," I mumbled, looking down at my dirty hands and then back out the window, where the sun smiled down upon the bustling streets of London. "Was there anything else?"  
  
Draco shifted his weight slightly, almost as if he were uncomfortable. "Yes, in fact… there is. Do you—" he paused, mimicking my motions as he looked down at his unquestionably spotless, manicured hands. "—do you have anywhere to go, Harry?"  
  
I looked up at his earnest gaze, my own filled with shock and surprise. "No," I finally admitted. "I don't."  
  
"Would you like to stay with me—until you get yourself settled and all?"  
  
I bit back a smile as Draco Malfoy—the most powerful man in the Ministry—looked at me with hope evident in his eyes. I considered the notion for a moment, realizing he had in fact been a great enemy to me, but never as great as Voldemort had been. He had also at one point been a friend, although the time had been brief. He had been the wizard to defend my case going into court; we had lost the case, but both felt as if we had gained a friend, no matter how small the bond.  
  
"This isn't the make up for losing, is it?" I tossed him a boyish grin, the first smile I had expressed in years. He looked startled and immediately shook his head, his long blonde hair falling recklessly into his eyes.  
  
"Of course not—although I do feel bad, of course—I…" He paused once again, his eyes distant. "I just wanted to help out a friend, you know?"  
  
I nodded solemnly, standing up and walking over to where he sat. I turned around to face the floor-length window, seeing his chair turn to face the window out of the corner of my eye. The wheels were large and his hands were small, but he handled the chair with ease, barely even thinking of the motions his body was making.   
  
We had all come through the war with wounds; some metal, some physical.  
  
"Have you ever watched a sunrise or a sunset?" I asked quietly, crossing my arms and gazing out the window.  
  
"Yes, I have," Draco responded, his voice equally as quiet. "They make me feel alive."  
  
"They were the only things that kept me going," I sighed, eyes watching the clouds float through her golden rays.  
  
"Harry?" Draco turned towards me, his eyes honest and wide. "I'm sorry."  
  
"I know," I whispered, tearing my eyes away from the sky to look at my one and only friend.  
  
Twenty years ago, the prime era of my life had been stolen away from me, the sun setting on my youth. That day, the sun rose once again in what was to be the happiest era of my life, one in which I was to be surrounded by friends and supporters, the ones who had always believed in me.  
  
It's true that to every beginning there is an end, but it is also just as true, if not more so, that to every end there is a beginning.  
This was my highest beginning after the deadest end of my life.  
  



End file.
